


I Will Be the Unmaking of You (or, Sam Thinks Too Much)

by misbegotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks too much. Gabriel seems to be waiting for some porn to move the plot along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Be the Unmaking of You (or, Sam Thinks Too Much)

**Author's Note:**

> For the marvelous jessebee on her birthday. Many happy returns. Old school season 5 ahoy!

Dean suspects that Sam and Gabriel are fucking. This has led to exaggerated coughs before Dean enters the room, awkward pauses in conversation when the subject of Gabriel comes up, and separate rooms when they bunk down for the night. The latter is entirely welcome to Sam; watching Dean and Castiel's glacially slow romance move from eyefucking to... well, more eyefucking is farcical at best. All in all, Sam would appreciate Dean's unexpected attempts at consideration. If he and Gabriel were actually fucking, that is.

Gabriel, despite his habitually lewd comments and infuriating teasing, remains oblivious to Sam's advances. Such as they are. Okay, so Sam's advances have remained mostly in his head. "I want to run my fingers through your hair," comes out as, "Get your boots off my bedspread, Gabriel."

Sam's mental advances sound remarkably girly, upon reflection.

Nonetheless, "I want to fuck you through the mattress," morphs into "Stop dripping chocolate on the ancient texts," when Sam opens his mouth.

Gabriel slurps chocolate sauce off his fingers and waggles his eyebrows.

Gabriel is definitely playing with him.

*

"Can angels read minds?" Sam asks Castiel one day while Dean is pumping gas into the Impala. Sam mostly manages to sound nonchalant. Castiel's reply is, as expected, thoughtful and massively unhelpful.

"Human minds are a confusing melange of wishes, desire, the impossible and inconceivable. The minutiae can be overwhelming." Cas gives a half-shrug, a human gesture that Dean has taught him. "Plucking a 'true' thought out of a human mind is like finding your proverbial needle in a haystack."

"So you can, but don't?"

Castiel considers carefully. "Some are better at finding needles than others."

*

So Gabriel can read Sam's mind. And Sam's mind has been firmly in the gutter where Gabriel is concerned. So why isn't Tab A repeatedly entering Slot B? Sam considers the problem carefully.

Point #1 - Sam has, Jess excepted, sucky taste in bed partners.

Gabriel is using Sam's laptop to watch porn. Noisy porn, based loosely on the plot of Casablanca but Sam doesn't recall any threesomes in the original. "Must you ruin a perfectly good movie?" he demands.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes the plot needs a little sex to get moving."

Sam throws a pillow at Gabriel. It lands neatly at the Archangel's side.

Sam deliberately thinks unsexy thoughts. He's not sure which one of them he's punishing.

*

Point #2 - He can't trust Gabriel farther than he can throw him (which, if angelic powers aren't factored in, is probably a fair distance. But still.)

Taking on a seawitch with a pointy stick proves fruitless; the waves she's swirling around Sam's head are threatening to swamp him, and the damned stake keeps trying to bob away. As he gulps more saltwater, he wishes Dean and the boat would get the hell over here _now_...

And there's Gabriel. "Don't you have enough problems without wishing on Hell?"

Sam drips on the motel room carpet. Sullenly. "I wasn't," he protests, but it might have come out that way and damn -- _dang_ if hanging out with angels and demons hasn't fucked up his vocabulary repertoire. "The seawitch?" he asks, peeling off his sodden t-shirt.

"I gave Dean a big-ass harpoon. He's on his way back to harbor now." Gabriel's voice sounds a little high, and Sam shoots him a look as he casts aside the shirt and kicks off his shoes.

"Problem?" Sam asks, suddenly conscious of the fact that while Gabriel has popped in on him in various states of undress, Sam's never deliberately given him a striptease before. Lips twitching into a grin, he starts on the buttons of his jeans.

"No problem," Gabriel says evenly. "Next time give me a call _before_ you get in over your head. Literally." With a snap, he disappears.

Sam has the feeling that the haystack is getting smaller.

*

Point #3 - Sam has an itch to scratch, and apparently hazel eyes and sardonic lips do something for him. And it's not that Sam can't do without. He's friendly with his hand, and imaginary Gabriel is far less dangerous than the real thing.

The water pressure in the motel shower is depressing low, but Sam's not thinking about anything except the feel of his hand on his cock, imagining smaller but graceful fingers sliding down the shaft and back up to the tip. He shudders as his orgasm rips through him, leaning back on the chipped tile of the shower wall, considering just how stupid he's being mooning over an angel. Like his _brother_.

The soap, when he picks it up, is an expensive French kind that is remarkably out of place in the no-frills motel room.

*

Point #4 - He feels something for Gabriel. A spark of kinship (and isn't that presumptuous, claiming kinship to an Archangel?), an instinctive identification with his fellow walking wounded.

Lucifer is playing in his dreams when Sam forces himself awake. He startles at the figure on the edge of the bed, his hand automatically reaching for the knife under the pillow, before he recognizes the slant of the shoulders.

"Gabriel," he manages, licking his dry lips. "What are you doing here?"

Gabriel doesn't turn, but his voice is soothing. "Go back to sleep, Sam."

Sam closes his eyes, and doesn't dream.

*

Point #5 - The slow, steady spiral of desire that threatens to overtake him whenever Gabriel is in the room.

Sam wakes much later than usual, the sun already well over the horizon when he stretches and yawns. Gabriel is lying next to him on the bed, doing a fair imitation of sleep. He's dressed in a white t-shirt and a ludicrous pair of heart-festooned boxers. Sam watches the steady rise and fall of his chest -- ridiculous, because angels don't need to breathe -- and feels a knot in his gut as he considers what he wants.

He wants Gabriel.

He leans over and brushes his lips across Gabriel's. Gabriel opens his eyes, a twist of a smile on his lips.

"Can you hear me?" Sam asks.

Gabriel tilts his head, lazy smile in place. "My ears work well enough."

Sam reaches across the space between them and folds his fingers around Gabriel's wrist. "Can you _hear_ me?"

A look crosses Gabriel's face, a glimpse of something pained. "I hear you. More than you want me to," he says with the barest hint of lechery in his tone. He twists, and now his hand is on Sam's forearm. "Anymore stupid questions?"

Sam licks his lips, his pulse leaping beneath Gabriel's fingers. "What do you hear?"

Gabriel's grip loosens but doesn't let go. He runs the pads of fingers back and forth across Sam's palm. Sam watches his own fingers splay involuntarily, and wonders at the rhythmic gentleness in Gabriel's touch.

"I hear lots of things," Gabriel all but whispers. "I hear your fears, I hear desires." His eyes lock with Sam's. "I hear my brother chirping away in the back of your skull." Gabriel threads his fingers through Sam's. "I can't stop that."

Sam meets his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm not asking you to."

Gabriel stills. "What are you asking for, Sam?"

"Point number 5," Sam answers, and before Gabriel can fashion a question, Sam leans forward and presses his lips to Gabriel's again.

Sam takes his time, biting softly on the soft underside of Gabriel's lip, licking in to taste the sweet afterfinish of chocolate and _electricity_. Gabriel makes a low noise in the back of his throat but lets Sam in, lets Sam draw him forward until Sam is cradling Gabriel's head in the palm of his hand, pressing in.

"I'm going to fuck you into the mattress," Sam says, and this time it comes out exactly right, with the undercurrent of want and need and a fucking growl because Sam's been waiting for this for a long time.

"Less talking, more fucking," Gabriel mutters, pulling Sam's t-shirt over his head and throwing it over the side of the bed. Sam shimmies out of his underwear while Gabriel strips, and then Sam has to take in an unsteady breath while he gazes at the expanse of golden skin beneath him.

"C'mon Sammy," Gabriel chides, his hand doing sinful things to Sam's cock. He flicks his thumb over the slit of Sam's erection and watches with glee as Sam flinches. "Let's party."

Sam reaches down and bites into Gabriel's shoulder, making him shudder. "Let's party? That's the best you can do?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Gabriel doesn't sound the least bit contrite. "Did you want to be _wooed_?" He slides his fingers down, cradling Sam's balls for a moment, before tightening his grip on Sam's shaft. "I thought that's what I've been doing."

Sam bites down a groan and rolls, taking Gabriel with him, running his hands over the sharp planes of Gabriel's back. Gabriel mutters something that doesn't sound like English and Sam grins before dipping his tongue between the cheeks of his ass. Gabriel bucks against the bed, and Sam licks again, finding the puckered hole and swiping against it. Gabriel's fingers clench into the bedcovers as Sam purses his lips and blows, then licks, then blows again, and Gabriel is saying something unintelligible again until he raises his head and snarls, "Don't fuck with the Archangel, Sam."

Sam crooks a finger into Gabriel's tight depths. "I thought that was the whole point." He adds a second finger, moving them in and out, and Gabriel snaps his finger to conjure a bottle of lube. Sam puts a hand firmly on Gabriel's back and snaps open the bottle, then drizzles just enough on Gabriel's lower back. Gabriel makes a sound of protest but Sam traces his fingers through the puddle and enters Gabriel with three fingers, drawing a short, punched out sound from the Archangel.

"Enough," Gabriel says testily. "I've smited people for less."

Sam doesn't waste any time coating his cock, lining up and pushing in. He pauses for a second, giving Gabriel time to adjust, but the Archangel reaches a hand back and digs his fingers into Sam's thigh. "Now," Gabriel says, something dangerous in his voice. Sam complies, a few shallow thrusts and then he's pounding into Gabriel, lost in heat and sweat and the smell of sex. Gabriel tightens around him, drawing Sam in, and Sam realizes he's saying Gabriel's name over and over like an incantation. Balls slapping, groin against ass, and Gabriel's hand on his own erection is Sam's entire world until Gabriel says firmly, "Sam, close your eyes."

He closes them, and as he howls his completion there's a light touch against his face, brushing down his shoulders and across his chest. _Wings_ , he thinks dizzily, and falls forward panting, splayed across Gabriel's back.

"Oof," Gabriel complains after a few minutes. "You're heavy."

Sam twines his fingers through Gabriel's and pants, "You're an angel. I can't squish you."

"Oh yeah," Gabriel says smugly, and in an instant he's got Sam on his back pinned to the mattress. "That's better."

"Can you hear what I'm thinking?" Sam asks.

Gabriel waves a hand. "Blah blah, dangerous to know, blah blah, am I going to stick around, blah blah, apocalypse, blah blah, fantastic sex, blah blah, in that position, really?" He counts off the points on his fingers. "Point 1 - But so much fun to be around, Point 2 - I'm not going anywhere. Point 3 - I'll see what I can do. Point 4 - Yes, and Point 5 - repeatedly."

"Repeatedly?" Sam quirks an eyebrow.

"Angelic stamina," Gabriel counters. "I'm going to wear you out."

There's a knock on the door and a hesitant cough. Before Sam can reply, Gabriel calls out cheerfully, "Go away, we're fucking!"

*

On the other side of the door, a Do Not Disturb sign with the silhouettes of two people in a compromising position appears on the door handle.

"I knew it," Dean mutters to himself. "Bobby owes me fifty bucks."


End file.
